Jennifer lay staring at ceiling, her mind spinning in endless circles. No matter how hard she tried, sleep wouldn’t come.

Her body ached, but her thoughts refused to quiet. Everything that happened that day looped through her head: Henderson’s smug face, the glowing words on her wall, the strange series of events that had saved her and James from what should have been an inescapable trap.

Every instinct screamed that this was a setup. She couldn’t trust the calm. Henderson could strike at any moment, and the thought made her muscles coil with tension.

When the knock came at her door, Jennifer was already halfway to her feet. Her heart pounded as she aimed her hand toward the door, crimson goo bubbling in her palm, ready to fire. She forced her voice steady. “Who is it?”

“It’s me,” James said from the other side of the door, his voice muffled but recognizable.

Jennifer frowned, not lowering her hand. “James? What are you doing here?”

“I’ve been thinking,” he said, his tone cautious but firm. “If this is a trap—and it probably is—it’s better if we stick together.”

Her mind immediately went to Henderson. Her voice turned sharp. “You’re the one who’s always talking about how smart your brother is. What if he’s using _you_ to get to me?”

There was a long pause. When James finally spoke, his voice was softer. “Didn’t think of that. I guess I’ll take that as a no.”

Jennifer bit her lip, debating whether to send him away. James sounded sincere—scared, even. She sighed heavily. “Wait.”

She crept to the door and opened it just a crack, enough to see James’s face. Her other hand stayed raised, claws extended and ready to strike if anything went wrong.

James flinched slightly at the sight of her claws. “You sure about this?” he asked, his expression a mix of concern and hesitation.

“No,” Jennifer admitted, stepping back to let him in. “But come in anyway.”

James stepped inside, his eyes scanning the small apartment. He gave a faint, lopsided smile. “Almost as small as my place.”

Jennifer snorted softly, already sitting back down on her bed. “Yeah, the minimalist ‘barely livable’ aesthetic. It’s very in right now.” She nudged the second stool toward him with her foot. “Sit.”

He hesitated for a moment before lowering himself onto the stool. His movements were stiff, like he was trying to suppress whatever tension was roiling inside him.

His hands came to rest on his knees, but Jennifer noticed the subtle trembling in his fingers. She didn’t say anything, though her eyes lingered on them for a moment.

Instead, she stood, walking over to the closet. She rummaged around, pulling out a folded bedsheet. Without ceremony, she tossed it toward him.

“Here,” she said, brushing her hands off as if she’d just handed him something far more cumbersome. “You can sleep on the floor.”

James caught the sheet mid-air and unfolded it slightly, studying the worn fabric. “Nice,” he said with mock admiration. “Luxury treatment.”

“Don’t push it,” Jennifer said, sitting back down.

James chuckled faintly, but the sound quickly faded. He smoothed the sheet over his lap, his gaze distant. “Thanks,” he murmured after a moment. “Not sure I’ll actually get any sleep, though.”

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“Same,” Jennifer admitted, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She clasped her hands together, staring at the floor. “Must be worse for you, though. Knowing it’s your brother.”

James let out a slow breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. “Yeah. It’s... a lot.”

Jennifer glanced at him, hesitating before speaking. “My parents weren’t great. Always comparing me to my brothers, always making me feel like I wasn’t good enough.” She paused, fiddling with the hem of her shirt. “My eldest brother, though... he was the only one who didn’t treat me like crap. If I had someone like your brother in my family...” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I’d be sick to my core.”

James’s expression softened, his eyes dropping to the floor. “I get that. “My parents weren’t exactly model citizens, either. Addicts. Barely functioning half the time. My brother kept them alive. To them, he was... I don’t know, their savior or something. They thought he was the greatest thing since sliced bread. And me?” He let out a humorless laugh. “I was just extra. The spare kid they didn’t know what to do with.”

Jennifer gaze fixed on him. She was surprised by how candid he was, the rawness in his tone.

“That’s rough,” she said, her voice softer than before.

James shrugged, his hands gripping the edge of the stool. “Yeah. But I guess we don’t get to pick family, right?”

Jennifer leaned back slightly, crossing her arms. “True. It doesn’t mean you have to let them define you.”

James glanced up at her, a flicker of something—gratitude, maybe—crossing his face. “Yeah,” he said simply, as if the word carried more weight than it seemed.

The room fell into a comfortable silence. Jennifer stretched her legs out, leaning her head back against the wall.

The night stretched on, the silence punctuated by the faint hum of the city outside.

The morning sunlight streamed weakly through the window, casting a pale glow over the room. Jennifer stirred first, blinking groggily before sitting up. She glanced over to see James sprawled on the floor, snoring softly, the bedsheet tangled around his legs.

She crouched beside him and gave his shoulder a light shake. “Hey. Wake up.”

James groaned, cracking one eye open. “What time is it?”

“Time to get moving,” Jennifer said, standing and stretching. “Still alive, by the way.”

James sat up, rubbing his face. “Yeah. Guess we made it through the night.”

"I think I'm almost being convinced that your brother got fucked by that dragon-man. Anyway, want to get something to eat?" Jennifer asked.

"Fucked...? Oh like killed. Yeah, I wouldn't mind eating. You cook? You don't really give that vibes."

"I don't know how to cook. I eat out, always."

"Oh... Huh. Hm. Wow."

"I feel like I'm being judged... but maybe it's just my imagination..." She said with a glare.

"Def your imagination."

---

They found a small diner a few blocks away, a place that smelled of coffee, and grease. It wasn’t fancy, but it was the kind of spot that promised hot food and strong coffee, which was all they needed.

A waitress approached, balancing a tray and a notepad. She was in her forties, with kind eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. “Morning,” she said. “What’ll it be?”

Jennifer glanced at James, who shrugged. “Just coffee for me,” he said.

Jennifer ordered a full breakfast—eggs, bacon, and toast—then added a coffee for herself.

She could actually afford to eat like a normal person now. She wanted to save up as much money as possible but at the last second she thought, 'fuck it.' Treating herself a little bit when she could die tomorrow wasn't a bad thing.

“Coming right up,” the waitress said, scribbling on her notepad before disappearing into the kitchen.

The two sat in silence for a while, the restaurant's din filling the void. Jennifer tapped her fingers on the table, her thoughts elsewhere.

James asked, "It kinda baffles me that people actually eat eggs. If you think about it, it's kinda like eating menstruation of--"

Jennifer summoned her claws and jabbed them in his direction. "Respectfully, shut up."

He slowly nodded. Jennifer withdrew her claws and James said in a single breath, "Of-a-chicken. Kinda-nasty-kinda-gross."

She made an expression of cringe. "I liked it when you seemed like a super serious guy."

"I like sharing what I think when I get a little comfortable with people."

"You don't say..."

The waitress returned with their coffee, placing the cups in front of them. “Food’ll be out in a bit,” she said with a smile.

“Thanks,” James said, wrapping his hands around the mug. He glanced at Jennifer, noticing she hadn’t touched hers. “Not a coffee person?”

“Normally, yeah,” she said, stirring the cup absentmindedly.

Jennifer stared into the dark liquid.

The waitress returned a moment later, setting Jennifer’s plate down in front of her. The smell was enticing—crispy bacon, buttery toast, perfectly scrambled eggs—but as Jennifer took a bite, the food felt hollow.

James watched her, frowning slightly. “Not hungry?”

“It’s not that,” Jennifer said, shaking her head. “It just tastes bland."